


rain on me

by doublejoint



Series: peachtober 2020 [17]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27071221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint
Summary: "Is that a sword in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Dracule Mihawk
Series: peachtober 2020 [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1953295
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	rain on me

**Author's Note:**

> #peachtober day 17: Lilypad

A frog croaks, and then jumps out of the reeds and into the water, swimming away with strong strokes of its arms and legs. The water on the pond is translucent, a dirty, rippling window pane; Shanks watches the frog until it goes too deep to see. He isn’t looking at Mihawk, but he’s sure Mihawk’s eyes were also pointed at the frog, laser-sharp. They can’t, apparently, cut through the water, though. Shanks smiles at the thought, reaching up to adjust his hat.

“What amuses you?”

Mihawk’s voice is dry, cutting like his eyes, like a perfect sword. Wouldn’t he like to know.

A fly alights on a lily pad. Shanks looks over at Mihawk; his arms are crossed.

“Cute.”

Mihawk makes an annoyed sound, and Shanks really does laugh this time. He stands on his toes, erasing the height advantage Mihawk gets from his boots, and pulls him in by the collar. The blades of grass brush against Shanks’s toes.

The sound of a crow shrieking, right outside the window, brings Shanks crashing back into the waking world, a dry mouth and a large, warm, empty bed. Why does he need to dream a memory of Mihawk, years ago, when he’s just a few rooms away? It would have been a nicer dream to have when he was on the other side of the Grand Line, a few months ago, but then he’d wake up and not be able to do anything about it. Perhaps it’s for the better. 

He sits up, running a hand through his hair, then over his jaw. He really does need to shave, but he’ll wait another day or two; it’s a little bit itchy but Mihawk likes when he’s halfway to a beard (until Shanks goes down on him and gives him beard burn on his thighs, but Mihawk likes that too, he just won’t admit it--but that’s still a couple of days away). The crow shouts again, farther away, off to find someone who will listen more closely, probably. Shanks rolls over onto Mihawk’s half of the bed; the sheets are cool. Maybe breakfast is ready. With that in mind, Shanks rolls all the way over to the edge of the bed and sits up.

* * *

“You should put a pond in the yard,” Shanks says.

Across the table, Mihawk is pretending to read the newspaper. “No.”

“Why not? You’ve got room.”

The island he lives on is mostly overgrown, neglected farmland, rocky cliffs, but he does have a sizeable yard out back, an old gazebo badly in need of a new paint job, full of grass and wildflowers and weeds. A small pond would fit right in.

“Too much upkeep. I’m not always home.”

“It’ll take care of itself. You don’t need to feed the frogs.”

“Who said I’d have frogs?”

Shanks snorts. He’d definitely have frogs.

“If you ever live on land, you can have a pond,” says Mihawk.

Shanks stretches his feet out under the table, running one up Mihawk’s ankle. If only he wasn’t wearing long pants. Shanks keeps going; Mihawk turns the page on the paper and takes a sip of coffee, but then, just as he sets down his mug, his own foot brushes against Shanks’s other ankle. His toes curl around it, precisely where he knows it makes Shanks shiver, and Shanks is very glad he’d put down his fork.

* * *

It rains that afternoon, cloaking the horizon and the distant cliffs in fog and mist. It’s as if they’re alone, in the middle of a mirage, suspended in time and space. They go out to the gazebo anyway, with two and a half bottles of wine and some pound cake that Mihawk had made last week. It’s a little bit stale but the taste is overridden by the wine, but Shanks compliments it anyway.

“It’s good. The chef ought to make it more.”

He winks, and Mihawk smiles, pouring himself another glass of wine. The rain’s coming down too fine to make a sound on the top of the gazebo, but there’s a sound to it anyway, hard to define. Shanks takes another drink, right from the wine bottle.

Shanks leans back, cradling the bottle in the crook of his elbow. The gazebo’s just the right size for him to put up his feet on Mihawk’s lap; Mihawk spreads his legs. His eyes are blazing bright under the brim of his hat, like they need the shade not to be blinding. Shanks drags his toe over the inside of Mihawk’s thigh, and then down; Mihawk tilts his head back. There’s no rush, but Shanks wants to be over there already, his mouth at Mihawk’s pale, exposed neck. Mihawk looks back at him, spreads his legs wider, oh, fuck.

Shanks slides his foot over Mihawk’s crotch, and he’s not even hard yet, but—

“Is that a sword in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

Mihawk makes an exasperated sound, and Shanks laughs. He points his toes, rubbing his foot right over top of Mihawk’s cock, thinking about the friction on top of friction and the layers of fabric, his own cock pressing against the front of his underwear. Mihawk’s face is flushed; the wine sloshes in his glass. He sets it down beside him and then leans forward, into Shanks’s touch. 

“You really want it, huh?” says Shanks, but any effect he’s going for is ruined by the unevenness of his voice--though, maybe not; Mihawk always likes seeing him come undone, too.

The rain taps on the roof, coming down harder, as if it’s telling Shanks that yes, they have all afternoon, but that doesn’t mean he has to wait around and drag it out. He sets his wine bottle aside and opens his arm, leaning back against the support behind him, and pulls his leg back. 

Mihawk sits, breathing hard, looking at him. Then he leans back, open arms, open legs, and the impatience gnaws on Shanks like a hungry dog at a bone. 

He undoes Mihawk’s pants with his mouth, tongue catching on the zipper when Mihawk brushes the shell of his ear with his knuckles and his chin jerks. Mihawk does it again, but this time Shanks is ready for it, closing his eyes and keeping his teeth steady as he pulls the zipper and his brain screams at him to lean into the touch, and then, letting the zipper fall from between his teeth, he does. A sound escapes his throat, half-muffled; Mihawk threads his fingers through Shanks’s hair and waits for the sensation to fade. 

Shanks’s knees dig into the wood, no splinters this time at least. He pulls Mihawk’s cock out of his underwear and takes him in his mouth, hot and hard. He grinds against Mihawk’s leg, but the angle’s awkward and he can’t contort his body that way. Can’t stay on his knees as long as he used to, either, but he can manage long enough. He’s not that old yet. He runs the tip of his tongue up Mihawk’s shaft and back down, letting him out, taking him back in. Mihawk gasps, a rolling shudder through his body as he lifts his hips, and Shanks’s stomach feels very warm. He sucks on Mihawk’s cock greedily, like he wants to take it deeper even though he’s got it all in already. Mihawk’s hand curls in Shanks’s hair, pulling at it; Shanks sucks harder, Mihawk’s cock hitting the back of his throat. Shanks suppresses his gag reflex, and then pulls his head back, letting Mihawk’s cock come all the way out of his mouth. He sits there, looking at it, trying not to think about his knees, until Mihawk’s hand relaxes in his hair.

“You fucking tease.”

And then, the impatience is back; Shanks takes him in again, all the way at once, and sucks him dry.


End file.
